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TheK 


THE  KING  AND  THE  HARPER 

Together  with 
Other  Poems  by  George  W.  Stevens. 

Made  into  a  book  by 
The  Merrill  Press  Company, 

at  Toledo,  Ohio, 

in  this  Our  Lord's  Year, 

Nineteen  Hundred  and  One. 

* 

Second  Edition. 


Sometimes  we  want  to  express  a  thing  very  badly 

— and  we  do. 


SRLF 
URl 


I  dedicate  this  book  to  my  mother  who  thinks 
everything  I  write  is  good. 

I  publish  it  because  I  want  to. 


0M»S  MtrtnrAT  JLTACVMH  Me  VAU 


GUTHRUWPS  NIGHTINGALE. 


THE  KING  AND 
THE  HARPER  J* 


OBLES,  ladies,  knights  and  dames, 
Minstrels  with  their  songs  and  games, 
Modest  traders  with  their  wares, 
Monks  and  gray-robed  friars 

with  prayers, 

Beggars,  squires  and  palmers,  all, 
Waked  the  Abbey's  timbered  hall, 
Till  the  seneschal  with  rod 
Gave  the  floor  a  mighty  prod, 
"List  ye  all,  both  great  and  smale, 
Comes  now  Guthrum's  Nightingale; 
Minstrel  to  the  Danish  Chief, 
Wandered  from  his  native  heath." 
Bowed  the  minstrel  in  good  grace, 


Pendent  hung  his  harp  in  place, 
Fair  his  ruff  and  tawny  skirt, 
Seemly  was  his  waist  begirt; 
Capon  grease  well  kembed  his  locks, 
Sooted  pumps,  red  nether  socks, 
He  a  comely  lad  and  fair, 

Faced  the  two  score  Saxons  there. 

*  jt  j*  * 

As  he  played,  a  silence  fell, 
Harp  and  singer  wove  a  spell, 
Heard  they  then  the  Northland  breeze 
Sweep  the  old  kings  o'er  the  seas, 
Heard  they  dying  Lodbrock's  song 
As  it  fired  the  Danish  Throng, 
Heard  they  melody  and  rhyme, 
Sire  to  son  from  Odin's  time, 
Tho'  the  Abbot  bellowed:  "Hold! 
Harper  durst  thou  be  so  bold?" 
Still  the  lad  held  to  the  strain, 


Bolder  sang  the  bold  refrain. 
Blades  flashed  from  their  scabbards  long- 
Calm  the  singer,  clear  the  song; 
Pressed  they  close,  a  frenzied  band- 
Keen  his  ear  and  sure  his  hand. 
Sent  he  then  a  mighty  chord, 
Oscillating  through  the  hord, 
Shields  with  rampant  beasts  enriched, 
Rang  like  tuning  forks  bewitched, 
Every  breast-plate  gan  to  sing 
Like  some  weird  enchanted  thing, 
Pulsing  to  the  strange  refrain 
Till  they  rent  their  bolts  in  twain; 
Blades  were  shriven  in  the  sheath, 
Lances  trembled  like  a  leaf, 
Nodes  and  segments  smote  their  ears, 
Swayed  the  antlered  chandeliers, 
Dishes  rattled,  tables  groaned, 
Walls  and  timbers  creaked  and  moaned; 


n 


High  and  low,  and  great  and  small, 
Fled  in  terror  from  the  hall, 
Vibrant  tones  isochronous, 
Rightly  used  can  raise  a  muss. 

Where  the  silken  cloth  was  laid, 
Peacocks  were  with  tails  displayed, 
"Rare  this  feast  of  chivalry, 
Sooth,  'tis  good  enough  for  me." 
Then  the  harper  made  to  sit 
And  discuss  the  dainty  bit. 
While  he  yet  enjoyed  the  bird, 
"Make  way  for  the  king!"  was  heard. 
Greased,  the  harper,  cheek  and  jowl, 
Stood  up  with  his  face  a-scowl, 
"Nay  be  seated,"  said  the  king, 
"I  would  fain  discuss  a  wing 
And  some  matters  I  have  heard, 
Without  broidery  of  word. 


Know  I  of  the  power  you  sway 
Over  iron  and  over  clay, 
Of  the  magic  in  your  strings 
That  could  make  and  unmake  kings, 
Only  let  your  harp  be  still, 
Sooth  I'll  make  you  what  you  will; 
Raise  you  to  a  high  estate, 
Give  you  tapestries  and  plate, 
Give  you  robes  as  rich  as  mine, 
Give  you  cellarers  and  wine, 
Honey  from  the  royal  hives; 
Give  you  lands,  and  give  you  tithes, 
Teach  no  prentice  hand  the  power, 
These,  and  more,  will  be  your  dower. 
When  you  play  at  my  command 
Let  it  be  with  bridled  hand, 
Let  the  magic  of  your  strings 
Sway  emotions,  but  not  things, 
Let  it  make  the  heart  beat  glad, 


13 


Let  it  make  us  passing  sad, 
Let  it  stir  the  valiant  breast, 
Let  it  soothe  the  babe  to  rest; 
That  is  all—yet  by  the  bye 
You  may  let  the  lover  sigh, 
Keep  all  else  within  thy  brain, 
There  to  seek  the  dust  again." 

Jt     j*     jt     jl 

Duly  was  the  compact  signed, 
Duly  hydromeled  and  wined. 
Now  a  song  will  make  us  glad, 
Or  in  turn  we're  passing  sad, 
Stirs  it  now  the  valiant  breast, 
Soothes  it  also  babes  to  rest, 
Lovers  sigh  a  goodly  store, 
Only  this  and  nothing  more. 
Tho'  we  compass  land  and  main, 
Weigh  the  planets  to  a  grain, 
Chain  the  lightning  to  our  needs, 


Time  the  faintest  star  that  speeds, 
Still  we  never  lift  the  veil 
Drawn  by  Guthrum's  Nightingale. 


THE  LOG  OF  THE 
GOOD  SHIP  NOD  * 


|HE  log  of  the  good  ship  Nod  I  ween 
Is  the  fairest  log  I  know; 
It's  written  in  dew, 

On  the  misty  blue 

Of  the  pages  of  long  ago. 

Only  the  eyes  of  a  child  may  read, 

And  only  a  child  may  go, 

The  mariner  bold 

Is  a  three  year  old, 

And  the  sailors  are  made  of  dough. 

The  town  of  Good  Night  lies  far  astern, 

The  Island  of  Dreams  ahead, 

The  binnacle  light 

Is  a  fire  fly  bright, 

And  the  cargo  is  gingerbread. 


Swung  in  a  golden  hammock  of  dreams, 

We  would  cruise  for  evermore; 

But  there  comes  a  day 

When  she  sails  away, 

And  alas,  we  are  left  on  shore. 

Aye,  aye,  the  log  of  the  good  ship  Nod 

Is  the  fairest  log  I  know; 

It's  written  in  dew, 

On  the  misty  blue 

Of  the  pages  of  long  ago. 


§      § 


17 


WISH  I  WUZ  A 
BOY  AG'IN    J* 


|IMES  that's  nowadays  ain't  those 
'At's  gone  by,  as  we'uns  knows, 
Good  old  days  when  you  an*  me 

Wuz  light  o'  heart  as  youngsters  be; 

There's  a  change  somewhere  that's  true- 
Maybe  Bill,  it's  me  an'  you. 

I  git  thinkin'  sometimes,  thin 

I  wish  I  wuz  a  boy  ag'in. 

I  kin  see  us  just  as  plain, 

We'uns  goin'  down  ther  lane 

With  er  hook  an'  line  an'  pole, 

Bound  fer  our  old  fishin'  hole, 

Where  we'd  fish  a  little,  thin 

Lay  around  an'  talk  ag'in; 

Stretch  ourselves  out  on  the  grass, 

Watch  th'  butterflies  'at  pass, 

Bees  an'  beetles  droning  by 

Kinder  lazy,  an'  ther  sky 

Jist  as  blue  as  blue  kin  be, 


Stretchin'  fur  as  you  kin  see, 
Till  it  meets  th'  daisy  plot 
Way  down  in  th'  pasture  lot. 
There's  a  music  in  th'  air 
'At  you  don't  hear  everywhere, 
Sort  o'  hummin',  peaceful,  low; 
Don't  know  jist  what  makes  it  tho', 
Sometimes  sounds  as  if  th'  breeze 
Wuz  a  whispering  to  th'  trees, 
Or  a  rustlin'  of  th'  grass 
That  perhaps  wont  let  it  pass. 
Anyway  it's  soft  an'  low, 
You've  a-heered  it  too,  I  know- 
Sometimes  hear  it  now—an'  thin 
Wish  I  wuz  a  boy  ag'in. 


I'M  LONGING  FOR 
MY  BABY  DREAMS 


'M  longing  for  my  childhood's  home, 
I'm  longing  for  my  trundle  bed; 
Beneath  the  old  blue  counterpane, 


I  long  again  to  tuck  my  head. 

I  long  to  feel  my  mother's  hand 
Steal  gently  round  my  own  wee  palm; 
I  long  to  hear  her  singing  low, 
As  soft  as  any  angel's  psalm. 

I  long  to  sleep  as  sleeps  a  child, 
Sprite  of  the  sifting  soft  moonbeams 
Touch  with  your  starry  wand  my  lids, 
I'm  longing  for  my  baby  dreams. 


20 


THE  *  Jt  J« 
OLD  CLOCK 


EACON  Skinner's  clock  was  tall- 
Straight  sot  up  ag'in  the  wall, 
An'  I  had  to  get  a  chair 

For  to  see  the  sojers  there, 

What  came  out  and  marched  before 

A  captain  who  popped  out  a  door 

Every  time  she  struck,  an'  thin 

Turned  and  popped  right  back  ag'in. 

I  was  just  a  little  mite 

And  that  clock  was  greatest  sight, 

Sottin'  up  ag'in  the  wall 

Mighty  fine  and  mighty  tall; 

And  the  sojers  what  marched  by, 

In  their  red  coats  caught  my  eye 

In  a  way  that  sojers  now 

Couldn't  cotch  it  anyhow. 

Well,  our  folkses  moved  away, 

And  the  years  lagged  on  'fore  they 

Went  back  visitin*  some  aunts, 


Takin'  me  and  the  fust  chance. 
Fast  as  my  two  legs  could  race 
I  just  made  for  Skinner's  place, 
For  to  feast  my  eyes  once  more 
On  them  sojers—but  the  floor 
Or  th'  ceiling  had  grow'd  small, 
An'  the  clock  ag'in  the  wall 
Wa'n't  so  shiny,  and  my  face 
Reached  up  to  the  captain's  place— 
And  the  sojers  wa'n't  just  right, 
Wa'n't  so  purty  or  so  bright, 
And  I  didn't  need  a  chair 
For  to  see  'em  marchin'  there. 
I  was  disappointed  some-- 
But  I  watched  'em  when  they  come, 
'Cause  they  was  old  friends  of  mine; 
And  altho'  they  didn'  shine 
In  their  red  coats,  and  wa'n't  tall, 
And  the  clock  ag'in  the  wall 


22 


Kinder  dwindled  and  looked  sad 
'Long  with  me,  still  I  was  glad 
For  to  see  'em  once  ag'in 
Marchin'  roun'  an*  roun'— an'  thin 
Ma  o'  visitin'  got  through 
And  went  home—and  I  went  too. 
Years  an'  years  had  passed  away— 
I  was  gettin'  on  and  gray,      •» 
When  ag'in  in  Skinner's  hall 
The  old  clock  ag'in  the  wall 
Met  my  sight— I'm  sorry  now 
I  a-seed  it— 'cant  tell  how 
Somethin'  tother  wa'n't  just  right, 
Didn't  'mount  to  shucks  in  height, 
Sojers,  little  bits  o'  wood, 
Squeakin'  round,  the  captain  stood 
'Thout  his  arms  before  the  door, 
Trying  as  in  days  of  yore 
To  look  prim,  but  lost  the  knack— 


23 


Wish  I  hadn't  a'gone  back, 
And  could  'member  it  so  tall 
Sottin'  up  ag'in  the  wall. 


ft! 


24 


CRUISE  OF  j«  Jl  J* 
THE  DREAM  SHIP 


|OME  get  aboard  my  sailor  man, 
The  ship  of  Dreams  is  on  the  tide; 
She's  tugging  at  her  anchor  chain- 
Come  get  aboard  and  take  a  ride. 

We'll  cruise  upon  a  wondrous  sea 
Where  ever  fair  the  winds  prevail, 
With  star  dust  rippling  in  our  wake 
And  moonbeams  bellying  the  sail. 

Sweet  Candy  Land  is  on  our  beam, 
We  sight  a  Noah's  ark  ahead, 
The  Pea  Nut  Islands  come  to  view 
Just  off  the  shores  of  Gingerbread. 

Come  get  aboard  my  sailor  man, 
We'll  swiftly  sail  across  the  night— 
Towards  Tomorrow's  shores  until 
The  captain  sights  the  Morning  Light. 


25 


OUR  SHIPS 


AR  on  the  misty  sea  of  Time 
Our  ships  are  resting  in  the  lees 
Full  freighted  down  with  happiness 
Just  waiting  for  a  favoring  breeze. 

Comes  Power  now  speeding  o'er  the  main 
And  passes  grandly  well  astream 
While  Wealth  keeps  to  the  sunset  west 
And  fades  away  a  golden  dream. 

The  ship  of  Fame  stands  down  the  wind 
She  presses  on  and  hails  me  not; 
I  would  not  stay  them  if  I  could, 
I  would  not  take  them  for  my  lot. 

For  Love  a  shallop  speeds  to  me 
Her  blessed  cargo  heaven  sent, 
There's  one  dear  soul  aboard,  and  I 
Enfold  her  in  my  arms  content. 


26 


FIRST    LOVE 


IRST  love's  a  tingling  from  the  toes 
To  head,  that  rushin'  comes  and  goes 
When  you're  a-thinkin'  of  someone 

An'  t'  other  folks  is  pokin'  fun 

At  you  because  they  kinder  know 

You  likes  her— well  you  always  go 

Right  past  her  house  when  t'  other  way 

Is  nearer  far— day  after  day 

You're  hanging  roun'  where  she's  to  be 

And  meets  by  accident,  and  she 

A'knowed  it  jist  as  well  as  you. 

'Twas  planned  before— they  always  do, 

An'  always  did,  an'  always  will 

Act  just  that  way— you  courts  her  till 

You've  run  th'  scale  of  huskin'  bees 

Where  you  can  smack  her  hard  when  she's 

A'got  the  ear  o'  corn  that's  red; 

Of  dances  till  you're  nearly  dead; 

An'  singing  schools,  an'  firemen's  balls 


27 


An'  straw  rides  when  the  crisp  snow  falls; 
An'  candy  pulls  an'  quilting  bees, 
An'  sug'rings  off  when  maple  trees 
Are  being  tapped  for  sap,  an'  all 
The  things  you  do  from  spring  to  fall, 
An'  from  the  fall  to  spring  ag'in; 
An'  then  it  peters  out,  grows  thin 
An'  dies  away— old  days  that  seem 
Just  like  a  sort  o'  faded  dream. 
Perhaps  you  meet  her  nowadays, 
She's  Mrs.  Farmer  Jones— you  says 
'Thout  thinkin'  of  the  long  ago: 
"Good  mornin'  mam,  'bout  time  to  sow," 
Or  "How's  your  yearlings  coming  on— 
An'  so  this  big  chap's  your  son  John." 


28 


THE  TOINTMENT 


just  heard  down  at  post  office 
Some  news  from  Washington— 
There's  been  a  foreign  'pointment  made 
For  old  Jed  Billing's  son. 
It  sort  o'  knocked  me  off  my  pins, 
I'm  flabbergasted  flat, 
I'm  going  up  to  tell  the  folks- 
How  Ma  '11  laugh  at  that. 

Why,  he's  just  old  Jed  Billing's  son 
That  growed  up  in  this  place, 
And  don't  know  peas  from  pippins— 
We  called  him  pumpkin  face. 
And  that  boy's  got  a  'pointment, 
I  can't  believe  it's  so; 
Why  what's  he  know  'bout  anything 
Is  what  I  want  to  know. 


29 


Jed  Billing's  son  was  raised  right  here 

Down  on  the  lower  road, 

And  learned  the  things  that  my  boys  learned, 

And  knowed  just  what  they  knowed; 

And  when  it  come  to  farming,  why 

He  couldn't  get  the  hang. 

He  up  and  run  away  to  town 

And  wasn't  worth  a  dang. 

Why  just  a  season  back  or  so 
It  'bout  appears  to  me, 
That  he  was  nothing  but  a  kid 
That  come  up  to  your  knee— 
A  common,  warty,  freckled  kid, 
Without  no  shoes  or  hat — 
And  so  he's  got  a  'pointment,  well 
Now  Ma  '11  laugh  at  that. 


30 


LAYING    j*    #    j*    j* 
FOR  THE  HUMORIST 


'M  laying  for  the  humorist 
That  pesters  farmer  folks 
In  illustrated  papers  and 

Poomatic  cycle  jokes. 

Because  we're  from  the  country,  that's 

No  sign  we  aint  got  sense— 

And  when  those  bloomer  girls  ride  by, 

Go  hide  behind  a  fence. 

The  Smith  girls  at  the  next  farm  house 

Wear  bloomers  every  day, 

There  aint  no  blooming  city  girl 

More  bloomin'er  than  they. 

A  fellow  used  to  bucking  colts 

And  plowing  stumpy  fields, 

Don't  find  no  terrors  lurking  in 

Them  new  poomatic  wheels; 

And  if  he's  rode  an  old  stone  boat 

And  hay  rakes  without  falls, 

He'll  tackle  your  velocipede— 


In  boots  and  overalls. 

So  kind  o'  get  it  out  your  head 

That  we're  afeered  o'  wheels, 

And  all  sot  dead  ag'in  'em,  cause 

We  aim—the  farmer  feels 

That  wheelmen  do  a  power  o'  good 

A'making  better  roads, 

And  that's  a'goin'  to  help  we'uns 

When  toting  of  our  loads. 

So  when  you're  riding  down  our  way, 

Don't  be  afeered  to  call— 

You're  welcome  as  th'  sunshine,  and 

There's  milk  enough  for  all; 

The  latch  string's  allers  hanging  out, 

And  if  you're  busted  down, 

We'll  hitch  th'  hoss  and  buggy  up, 

And  tote  you  back  to  town. 


32 


BE  GLAD  „<  J> 
YOU'RE  POOR 


|E  glad  you're  poor,  the  clothes  you  wear 
Won't  look  no  worse  for  Another  tear; 
Be  thankful  that  your  good  corn  cake 
Will  never  give  you  pain  or  ache. 
Be  glad  you're  poor,  and  save  your  hairs 
From  wearing  off  with  business  cares, 
And  fearing  banks  are  going  to  bust, 
And  who  the  deuce  you're  going  to  trust. 
Be  glad  you're  poor— no  relative 
Will  grudge  the  time  you're  going  to  live. 
Don't  always  worry  'bout  your  lot, 
Give  thanks  for  what  you  havn't  got, 
And  be  content  with  what  you  get 
And  let  the  wealthy  fume  and  fret. 
Then  when  financial  blizzards  come 
And  banks  go  tumbling  round  like  fun, 
And  stocks  and  bonds  go  galley  west- 
Just  thank  your  stars  you  dont  invest. 
Go  prop  your  legs  up  at  the  store 
And  smoke  and  then  be  glad  you're  poor. 

33 


YOU'RE  WEALTHY 


ON'T  worry  just  because  you're  poor, 
If  you  were  rich  you'd  worry  more— 

That's  cert'in. 
You  get  your  three  square  meals  a  day, 
You  couldn't  eat  more  anyway— 

'Thout  hurtin'. 

Don't  think  the  fates  have  been  unkind, 
There's  many  millionaires  you'll  find— 

Complainin'. 

There's  lots  of  men  with  so-called  means, 
Who'd  like  to  wear  your  old  blue  jeans— 

'Thout  strainin'. 

You  fellows  in  your  working  clothes 
Can  shake  'em  when  the  whistle  blows— 

Thout  frettin'. 

The  boss  with  dollars  to  your  dime, 
You  bet  he's  working  overtime— 

And  sweatin'. 


34 


There's  them  who'd  give  up  every  sou 
If  they  could  stand  up  strong  like  you— 

And  healthy. 

You've  got  your  children  and  your  wife, 
You've  love  and  happiness  and  life— 

You're  wealthy. 


35 


WE'LL  HANG  OUR  Jl  Ji 
STOCKINGS  IN  A  ROV 


HE  backlog  glows,  and  sings  and  cheers, 
Companion  of  the  whitening  years; 
The  firelight  flickers  on  the  floor, 


I'm  dreaming  I'm  a  boy  once  more. 
Old  hearth,  a  lifelong  friend  you've  been, 
Unchanging  since  the  days  within 
The  circle  of  your  genial  glow, 
We  hung  our  stockings  in  a  row. 

The  mantel  hasn't  changed  a  jot 
Since  I  was  just  a  little  tot; 
The  old  clock  standing  'gainst  the  wall — 
Is  just  as  straight  and  just  as  tall, 
And  nothing's  changed  at  all  but  me; 
The  room  is  as  it  used  to  be 
When  in  the  golden  long  ago, 
We  hung  our  stockings  in  a  row. 


36 


The  friends  of  old  have  gone  their  ways, 
Or  passed  beyond,  these  many  days; 
The  ties  that  bind  me  to  the  past 
Are  dream-like  fading  out  at  last. 
Tho'  years  the  memories  erase, 
Ah!  me,  they  never  can  efface 
The  joy  when  in  the  long  ago, 
We  hung  our  stockings  in  a  row. 

And  as  I  dream,  I  fail  to  hear 
The  tiny  footsteps  stealing  near, 
Till  someone  climbs  up  in  my  chair 
And  slyly  tweaks  my  nose  and  hair; 
"Wake  up,  Grandpa— I  do  believe 
That  you've  forgotten  Christmas  Eve." 
"Forgotten—bless  you— won't  we  tho', 
Just  hang  our  stockings  in  a  row?" 


J*l        /*l         J*t 


37 


THE  RAIN 


JUT  my  dormer  window  hazy, 
Lie  the  stream  and  meadow  lazy, 
Soft  the  gentle  rain-drops  falling- 
Back  to  life  the  greenlands  calling. 
Subtle  as  the  hours  descending, 
Distant  tree  and  hilltop  blending, 
Gracious  as  the  love  eternal— 
Ever  fragrant  and  supernal. 


38 


FAME 


[HE  birds  sing  sweetest  in  the  deepest  glade- 
Untrodden  paths  invite  the  fairest  flowers, 
The  roughest  stone  the  purest  gem  has  made, 
The  faintest  star  could  swing  this  world  of  ours. 
Seek  not  for  genius  in  the  gilded  halls, 
Fame  comes  at  last  to  those  who've  sorest  wept; 
A  sage  may  dwell  within  a  hovel's  walls — 
The  King  of  Kings  first  in  a  manger  slept. 
Heed  not  a  lowly  birth,  or  humble  home, 
The  sails  ne'er  feel  the  breeze  until  unfurled, 
The  flame  of  genius  flutters  on  unknown- 
Then  meteor-like,  illumines  all  the  world. 


39 


SUPPLICATION 


HERE  Thy  feet  have  trod  the  way 
Footsore  press  my  steps  to-day. 
Know'st  Thou  well  the  brake  and  fen; 
Son  of  God,  have  mercy  then! 

Passed  Thou  on  with  wondrous  sight, 
Faltering  I  with, failing  light; 
Know'st  Thou  well  my  feeble  ken; 
Son  of  God,  have  mercy  then! 

Oft  Thou'st  felt  the  winds  blow  chill, 
Drawn  Thy  mantle  closer  still. 
Poor  and  scant  my  raiment's  been, 
Son  of  God,  have  mercy  then! 


40 


Toiled  Thou  here  for  daily  bread, 
Rude  the  place  to  rest  Thy  head, 
Know'st  Thou  well  the  throes  of  men; 
Son  of  God,  have  mercy  then! 


t  t  t 


THE  J«  j«  jl  #  Jt 
MOHAWK  VALLEY 


HE  sleepy  cattle  slowly  plod 
The  trails  that  long  stilled  feet  have  trod, 
The  ploughman's  fresh-turned  furrows  trace 


The  relics  of  a  bygone  race. 

Where  once  they  lived,  loved,  hoped  and  died, 

New  lives,  new  loves,  new  hopes  abide; 

And  when  these,  too,  have  passed  away, 

So  on  forever,  and  for  aye, 

The  hills  tower  on,  life's  nodes  repeat — 

Each  lays  its  stratum  at  their  feet. 

These  peaceful  trees,  oft  heard  the  sound, 

Of  warring  bowstrings  twanging  round, 

Their  leaves  exhale  as  years  increase— 

The  incense  of  the  pipe  of  peace. 

The  silver-threaded  valley  lies 

Serene  and  calm  beneath  the  skies. 

The  birds  and  sunshine  linger  there, 

And  sweet  content  fills  all  the  air; 

Care  stops  a  little  while  to  play 

A-down  the  Mohawk  Valley  way. 

42 


AN  jl  j«  *  J«  *  Jit 
OVEN  COURTSHIP 


ROM  foot  to  head 
Just  ginger  bread, 
A  doughty  boy  was  he; 

A  pat— a  twirl— 

A  cooky  girl 

Was  there  for  company. 

"I  feel,"  said  he, 

"You're  made  for  me." 

"I'm  all  undone,"  she  said, 

As  from  her  face 

She  brushed  a  trace 

Of  flour,  and  turned  quite  red. 

Her  simple  gown 

Was  getting  brown 

And  gold  gleamed  in  her  hair. 

"You're  stirring  me 

Far  more,"  said  he, 

"Than  did  the  cook  out  there." 


She  felt  aglow 

From  tip  to  toe 

So  nice  and  warm  all  through. 

"Dear  boy,  I  feel 

I've  lived  a  deal— 

I've  changed  since  I  met  you." 

And  then  her  wee 
Warm  hand  took  he, 
And  pressed  it  to  his  lips; 
They  made  no  sound 
Till  both  were  browned 
Way  to  their  finger  tips. 

: 'Twill  never  do 
We  are  so  new 

My  nose  we'll  dent  no  doubt." 
Now  in  his  face 
You'll  see  a  trace, 
It  never  quite  came  out. 


44 


"A  kiss,"  he  said; 
She  turned  her  head 
And  sweetly  gave  him  one, 
And  then— "Oh  my! 
Good  bye,  good  bye 
I've  got  to  go,  I'm  done." 

She  didn't  though 

He  held  her  so. 

"Sakes  on  us!"  laughed  the  cook, 

"It  beats  old  Ike 

How  natur'l  like 

Them  cooky  folks  can  look." 


45 


THE  DREAM 


[HE  fled  as  I  waked  from  my  dreaming 

to-night, 
And  nothing  was  there  but  the  mellow 

moonlight; 

The  breath  of  a  rose,  the  sweet  scent  of  her  hair, 
Seemed  to  linger  a  moment,  then  nothing  was  there. 

The  kiss  that  she  gave  me  is  moist  on  my  brow, 
The  love  that  she  plighted  is  thrilling  me  now; 
Her  voice  fell,  a  moment  since,  sweet  on  my  ear, 
Now  only  the  call  of  the  night  bird  I  hear. 

The  touch  of  her  hand  is  still  warm  on  my  own, 
But  where,  in  all  unmeasured  space,  has  she  flown; 
The  breath  of  a  rose,  the  sweet  scent  of  her  hair, 
Seemed  to  linger  a  moment,  then  nothing  was  there. 


I'll  have  no  loves  on  distant  stars 
While  tender  hearts  forsooth  abound, 
Why  reach  to  pluck  the  lofty  rose 
When  fragrant  ones  grow  near  the  ground. 


47 


WHERE 


HE  stones  that  note  each  crumbling  heap 
Cast  lengthening  shadows  o'er  the 

ground; 

Grim  dials  that  mark  the  end  of  time 
For  those  who  sleep  so  still  around. 

I  see  the  nascent  atoms  free 
The  mouldering  fetters  of  the  grave- 
To  seek  affinities  anew 
In  elements  they  blindly  crave. 

They  grasp  the  ivy  on  the  tower 
Or  eager  spring  to  meet  the  dew; 
Some  nestle  in  the  lily's  cup, 
Some  live  in  dull  cold  rock  anew. 

The:light  that  in  some  bright  eye  dwelt 
Is  prisoned  in  the  opal's  heart; 
The  breath  that  some  sweet  lips  exhaled 
The  roses  perfume  forms  a  part. 


48 


The  recreated  clay  lives  on, 
The  empty  grave  is  cold  and  dark; 
But  where  in  all  unmeasured  space 
Is  wand'ring  now  life's  fitful  spark? 


THE   Jt    j*  j*   j*   j* 
DEACON'S  FIRSTLY 


E  world  am  full  ob  people,  what's 
A-tryin'  all  de  while 
To  alter  things  about,  to  fit 
Dar  own  pekooler  style. 

Dey's  wasting  precious  moments,  an' 
Dey  lose  de  joyful  sound 
Ob  glad  hosannas  ringing  all 
De  time,  an'  all  around. 

For  when  de  robin's  singing 
Yo  kin  open  wide  your  throat, 
An'  spostulate  till  doomsday,  an' 
He  wouldn't  change  a  note. 


50 


An'  when  de  beaver's  building 
It  am  nonsense  to  presume, 
Dat  argufying's  going  to  make 
Him  add  annoder  room. 

An'  dars  ol  mars  woodchuck 
A  chucking  all  de  day, 
Dar  kaint  no  resolutin'  make 
Him  chuck  no  odder  way. 

De  Lawd,  he  teached  de  robin  an' 
De  beaver  what  they  know, 
He  set  the  woodchuck  chuckin',  an' 
He  started  me  an'  yo'. 


5) 


He  made  de  world,  an*  put  us  dar, 
An*  sot  us  going  right, 
An*  if  he  wants  to  change  us,  why— 
He'll  do  it  over  night. 


52 


NOW  DON'T 


OW  don't  commence  to  alter  things, 
The  old  Earth  in  her  orbit  swings 
You  several  million  miles  away 
From  where  you  left  off  yesterday. 

Those  fellows  of  the  Miocene 

Who  thought  they  ran  the  whole  machine, 

Are  just  a  lot  of  early  bones 

Stuck  fast  in  tertiary  stones. 

The  bosses  of  Primevalites 
Who  ate  the  toothsome  trilobites, 
And  dined  upon  devonian  eels, 
No  doubt  orated  after  meals. 

Don't  think  you're  springing  something  new, 
There  are  no  brand  new  thoughts  in  you; 
The  same  old  lines  of  stunts  were  done 
In  B  C  fourteen  forty-one. 


53 


Don't  buck  against  the  things  that  are- 
Your  pull  don't  reach  the  nearest  star. 
Don't  fret  the  planets  in  their  flight, 
They'll  get  around  on  time,  all  right. 

The  old  World's  laughing  at  your  chin 
She  knows  full  well  you  just  got  in. 
Before  you  know  what  she's  about— 
Why  bless  your  soul,  you  just  get  out. 


54 


REFORM 


iE  want 
Reform, 

And  want  it  bad— 
That  is 

We  want 
It  good,  egad! 
We  do 
Not  know 

Just  what  we'd  like- 
But  want 
Reform 

The  guns  to  spike, 
Of  those 
Who  laugh 
And  wink  a  wink 
At  what 
We  think, 

We  think,  we  think! 
A  score  of  different  ways  we  have 


55 


Of  bringing  this  reform  about, 
But  marry  sir,  we  can't 
Reform 
Each  other. 

There's  the  rub,  no  doubt- 
Each  one  of  us  has  his  scheme  planned 
For  turning 

Upside  down  this  land. 
He  knows  that  his  way 
Is  the  best, 
But  strange,  he  can't 
Reform 
The  rest. 
It's  tough  to  think 
Our  brothers 
Scorn 

To  follow,  when 
We  toot 
Our  horn. 


56 


When  sixty  ounces  make  a  ton, 
When  up  the  hills  the  rivers  run, 
When  bullets,  small,  project  the  gun; 
When  puny  planets  swing  the  sun, 
When  sea  is  land 
And  land  is  sea— 
The  world  will  then 
Reform-MAYBE! 


57 


TWIT  TOO 


'M  just  a  little  bird,  and  shy, 
Each  day  I  see  a  man  nearby, 
Twit  too,  he's  worn;  twit  too,  no  rest- 
He's  looking  in  his  treasure  chest. 

Each  day  the  man  adds  to  his  store, 
He  rubs  his  hands  and  goes  for  more, 
Twit  too,  more  notes;  twit  too,  more  gold — 
The  man  is  looking  wan  and  old. 

Ah!  but  he  loves  that  wondrous  chest, 
It  almost  makes  me  hate  my  nest, 
Twit  too,  life  work;  twit  too,  ah!  me- 
lt must  be  very  fine  to  see. 

I  havn't  seen  the  man  to-day, 
I  hear  somehow  he  passed  away, 
Twit  too,  what's  that;  twit  too,  what's  wrong- 
He  didn't  take  the  chest  along. 


58 


And  now  I  needn't  fear  surprise, 
I'll  take  a  peep,  and  feast  my  eyes, 
Twit  too,  how  queer;  twit  too,  just  bags- 
Some  metal,  and  some  paper  rags! 


PRESENTATION 
OF    THE  BRUSH 


H ETHER  be  it  silk  or  bristle, 
Sable  red,  or  down  of  thistle, 
Tasseled  corn,  or  hair  of  camel, 
Fur  of  mastodon  or  mammal — 
Hide  of  anything  that  rambles, 
Hair  of  anything  that  ambles; 
By  a  master  truly  pointed— 
By  a  prentice  hand  disjointed. 
You  can  use  it,  for  we  know,  sir! 
You  can  make  the  old  thing  go,  sir! 
True,  the  trick  lies  in  the  digit, 
On  the  stick  that  makes  it  fidget. 
Thus  we  send  you  this  one,  knowing 
You  will  set  its  bristles  flowing 
With  the  dripping  sunset  yellow, 
With  the  sifting  moonbeams  mellow. 
You  will  make  its  fibers  tingle 
With  the  hues  of  glade  and  dingle, 


60 


You  will  make  the  canvass  drizzle, 
Make  it  freeze,  or  make  it  sizzle, 
Limning  every  last  sensation 
Found  throughout  the  whole  creation. 


THE  Jt  * 
PHANTOM  PARTY 


OUSED  me  from  sleep,  some  wailing  loon, 
I  read  your  message  in  the  moon— 
Ere  sinks  its  rim,  with  cobwebs  hung, 
Into  the  marsh  from  whence  it  sprung. 
Wouldst  have  me  leave  this  joyous  pit, 
These  depths  where  merry  shadows  flit; 
This  home  where  rests  a  genial  gloom, 
These  caverns  swept  by  witches  broom, 
These  halls  that  know  no  human  wight— 
To  sally  forth  at  candle  light, 
And  meet  five  dozen  specters  there, 
When  truth  to  tell,  I've  naught  to  wear. 
My  winding  sheet  is  out  of  style, 
I've  really  lost  my  ghastly  smile. 

I  can't  assume  that  vacant  stare, 

« 

I  miss  my  former  ghostly  air. 
I'm  sure  my  cowl  will  never  fit- 
But  let  me  sit,  and  think  a  bit. 
Ah!  there's  that  specter  o'er  the  way, 


62 


Who  just  arrived  the  other  day. 
His  winding  sheet  is  just  the  mode— 
Til  waft  myself  to  his  abode, 
And  borrow  it—that  will  be  rum, 
Await  me,  shades,  I  Come,  I  COME! 


IF  I  WERE   # 
BORN  AGAIN 


F  I  were  born  again, 
What  would  I  do— 

If  I  were  born  again? 
Would  I  the  same  old  ties  renew, 
The  same  old  reckless  paths  pursue— 

And  then  a  few, 
If  I  were  born  again. 

If  I  were  born  again, 
What  would  I  do— 

If  I  were  born  again? 
Would  I  my  present  faults  eschew 
And  travel  with  the  chosen  few— 

That  would  be  blue, 
If  I  were  born  again. 


64 


If  I  were  born  again, 
What  would  I  do— 

If  I  were  born  again? 
I'd  do  the  same  as  you  would  do, 
Just  do  the  same  old  things  anew— 

That's  what  I'd  do, 
If  I  were  born  again. 


PURE  JOY 


You  may  sing  of  the  bliss 

When  first  kissing  a  kiss, 

Of  the  joy  when  first  taking  to  boots, 

Of  the  jovial  dash 

Felt  in  a  mustache— 

When  displaying  its  tenderest  shoots. 

Of  the  sensation,  when, 

With  a  sword  or  a  pen, 

You  have  put  the  whole  world  in  a  trance. 

But  the  joy  of  all  joys 

That  can  come  to  us  boys — 

Is  the  joy  of  our  first  pair  of  pants. 


66 


JOHNNY'S  BIRTHDAY 


|lRTHDAY  party- 
Johnny's  seven. 
Cards  sent  out— eight 

To  'leven. 

Kids  all  sizes 

Come  and  eat, 

Johnny's  stuffed  with 
candy  sweet; 

Fruit  and  shortcake, 
Puddings,  pies, 

Jam  and  sweetmeats, 
To  his  eyes. 

Same  day  next  year- 
Johnny's  eight, 

Dines  behind  the 
Golden  gate. 


A  TOAST— WOMAN 


N  all  her  ways, 
In  all  her  days, 

Our  admiration  and  our  praise- 
Are  due  her. 

In  pinafore, 
In  life's  three  score, 
Our  willing  task  is  to  adore— 
And  woo  her. 

She  is  the  wine, 
Of  life's  springtime, 
That  sets  our  every  thought  to  rhyme- 
Caress  her. 


68 


As  years  increase, 
She  brings  us  peace, 
Her  ministrations  never  cease- 
God  bless  her. 


69 


Words  are  as  stones  cast  thoughtlessly, 
The  circles  widen  o'er  the  sea— 
Until  they  reach  the  farthest  shore, 
Then  turn  and  seek  us  out  once  more. 


70 


MY  OLD  FRIEND 
PETE  LEROUX  ,* 


night  las'  fall  down  hon  de  ma'sh, 
We  sing  hon  de  canoe, 
She's  got  some  good  jim  dandy  voice, 
My  of  fren  Pete  Leroux. 

She  sing  lak  la  belle  chasonette, 
I'm  dreaming,  nom  de  dieu, 
I  tank  I  hear  an  ol'  goose  honk, 
Mon  jee,  says  Pete  Leroux. 

Den  I  wak'  up  an'  look  at  Pete, 
I  guess  dat  dream  come  true; 
His  eye  she  shine  lak  lightning  bug, 
Dat's  goose,  says  Pete  Leroux. 

An'  den  de  ol'  goose  honk  ag'in, 
An'  Pete  she's  honking  too— 
She's  got  some  good  jim  dandy  honk, 
My  ol'  frenJPete  Leroux. 


De  goose  she's  coming  down  de  wind, 
She's  come  lak  hurry  too-- 
I  HP  my  gun  an'  make  a  wink 
At  ol'  fren  Pete  Leroux. 

An'  den  I  bang,  an'  six  big  goose 
Fall  right  hon  de  canoe— 
You  don't  believe,  you  go  an'  ask 
My  ol'  fren  Pete  Leroux. 


72 


JUST  ONE  YEAR 
SINCE  JULIE  GO  * 


miss  my  Julie  since  dat  day 
Pete  Cuzeno  tak'  her  away; 
I  nevair  t'ink  it  hurt  me  so, 
It's  just  one  year  since  Julie  go. 

We  used  to  sail  off  on  de  bay 
And  fish  de  summer  days  away; 
I  can  no  fish  some  more  I  know, 
It's  just  one  year  since  Julie  go. 

My  heart  she  be  one  great  big  sigh, 
I  can't  forget  her  if  I  try; 
The  day's  so  long,  the  night  so  slow, 
It's  just  one  year  since  Julie  go. 


73 


Next  spring  I  build  me  nodder  boat, 
She  be  de  finest  t'ing  dat  float. 
Til  get  up  race  with  Cuzeno, 
It's  just  one  year  since  Julie  go. 


74 


Tis  time  that  draws  the  sweetest  note 
From  out  the  viol's  mellow  throat, 
The  ear  grows  keener  till  it  hears 
The  harmony  that  moves  the  spheres. 


75 


LEROUX'S  GARCON 


E  have  some  pretty  dandy  time 
Way  down  here  hon  de  bay; 
My  leetle  boy,  she's  six  year  old, 
Mak'  sunshine  all  de  day. 

Sometime'  we  go  out  hon  de  boat 
An'  row  up  to  de  store- 
He  put  his  leetle  han'  on  mine 
An'  tink  he  pull  de  oar. 

He  knows  to  shoot  hes  pa's  big  gun; 
I  hoi'  it  cross  my  knee- 
He  tak'  good  aim  an'  let  her  fly- 
Shoot  knot  hole  off  de  tree. 

An'  when  I  go  to  lumber  camp 
He  write  me  every  day, 
Such  funny  leetle  scrawl— but  den 
Hes  pa  know  what  he  say. 


One  day  we  fish  an'  get  some  bite, 
He  pull  an*  nevair  flinch— 
Den  I  pull,  too,— we  get  catfish 
Weigh  'leven-pound'— two  inch. 


77 


LIL'  JOE 


lETE'S  growing  old.     Sometimes  I  feel 
I  ain't  much  good  but  fish  for  eel. 
I  'member  when  dis  marsh  was  lake 

An'  moonbeams  dance  in  pon'  boat's  wake. 

I  'member  when  no  house  for  mile' 

'Cept  few  ole  shanty  by  Presque  Isle. 

Dat  be  the  time  when  Pete  be  smart 

And  know  the  muskrat  trick  by  heart; 

An'  when  two  duck  come  all  alone 

I  jes  bang  once;  she  fall  lak  stone. 

But  time  is  change;  Pete  los'  her  eye; 

I  can't  shoot  one  duck  now,  I  try; 

But  dats  all  right,  I  got  my  Joe. 

You  hear  about  dat  boy?    What,  No? 

One  night  win'  she  blow,  blow,  blow— 

Lak  nevaire  blow  before,  I  know; 

An'  some  big  boat  jes  off  de  shore 

Go  down,  an'  don't  come  up  no  more. 

She  all  bus'  up  an'  den  nex'  day 


78 


Some  t'ings  be  floatin'  hon  de  bay. 
I  tink  I  go  an'  save  some  wood, 
An'  maybe  sometin'  else  dat's  good; 
An'  dat's  de  way  I  find  my  Joe. 
He's  big  boy  now,  dat's  longtime  'go: 
De  probate  court  try  take  from  me, 
'Cause  HI'  Joe  have  propertee. 
But  HI'  Joe  she  hug  me  tight; 
I  say  you  tak  him  now  you  fight; 
An'  den  de  court  she  swear  my  han' 
An'  guess  I  mak'  good  guardian. 
I  teach  him  fish  lak  anyting, 
An'  how  to  set  de  trap  in  spring, 
An'  how  to  hunt,  an'  how  to  row, 
An'  how  to  mak'  de  pon'  boat  go; 
An'  now  two  duck  come  all  alone 
My  Joe  bang  once— she  fall  lak  stone, 


79 


IF  *  Jt   jt 


F  I  were  master  of  the  wealth 
Deep  hidden  in  the  mines  of  earth, 
I'd  shape  a  crown  of  purest  gold- 
Enriched  with  gems  of  priceless  worth; 
Its  every  stone  would  scintillate 
To  match  the  lustre  of  her  hair. 
I'd  proudly  lay  it  at  her  feet 
And  go  for  more— my  ladye  fair. 

If  I  could  mount  the  radiant  morn, 

And  speed  into  the  golden  East, 

Where  Persian  marts  display  their  wares— 

A  silken  oriental  feast. 

I'd  cull  from  them  the  choicest  stuffs, 

The  richest  weaves,  and  rarest  dyes, 

To  grace  my  ladye's  radiant  form, 

And  vie  the  sparkle  of  her  eyes. 


80 


If  I  could  scale  the  mountain  peak, 
Where  free,  the  sleek  angora  roams; 
If  I  could  ford  the  forest  stream 
Where  busy  beavers  build  their  homes; 
If  I  could  tread  the  tiger's  trail 
Beneath  the  tropic's  torrid  heat— 
I'd  bring  to  her  the  rarest  skins, 
On  which  to  rest  her  dainty  feet. 

But  as  I  neither  rule  the  earth, 
Nor  have  the  power  to  mount  the  morn; 
And  never  hope  to  have  a  hand 
In  seeing  lordly  tigers  shorn; 
And  as  those  things  I  wish  above 
Are  only  dreamings  in  my  head— 
I  wish  her  health,  I  wish  her  wealth, 
I  wish  her  every  joy  instead. 


An  eon  hence,  the  spade  of  Time, 
Will  turn  my  moulding  bones  to  view, 
For  sages  of  some  race  to  read 
The  prehistoric  tale  anew. 


INDEX. 


Page. 

The  King  and  the  Harper,          .        .  9 

The  Log  of  the  Good  Ship  Nod,    .  16 

Wish  I  Wuz  a  Boy  Ag'in,          .        .  18 

I'm  Longing  for  My  Baby  Dreams,  20 

The  Old  Clock,         ....  21 

Cruise  of  the  Dream  Ship,              .  25 

Our  Ships, 26 

First  Love, 27 

The  'Pointment,     ....  29 

Laying  for  the  Humorist,            .        .  31 

Be  Glad  You're  Poor,             .        .  33 

You're  Wealthy,         ....  34 

We'll  Hang  Our  Stockings  in  a  Row,  36 

The  Rain,           ....  38 

Fame,             39 

Supplication, 40 

The  Mohawk  Valley,       ...  42 

An  Oven  Courtship,           ...  43 


Page. 

The  Dream, 46 

Where? 48 

The  Deacon's  Firstly,        ...  50 

Now  Don't,             ....  53 

Reform,              .....  55 

Twit  Too, 58 

Presentation  of  the  Brush,          .         .  60 

The  Phantom  Party,       ...  62 

If  I  Were  Born  Again,            .        .  64 

Pure  Joy, 66 

Johnny's  Birthday,     ....  67 

A  Toast— Woman,           ...  68 
My  Old  Friend  Pete  Leroux,     .        .71 

Just  One  Year  Since  Julie  Go,       .  73 

LeRoux's  Garcon,      ....  76 

LiP  Joe, 78 

If, 80 


A    001  281  114    7 


